A Deviation of Circumstance
by Sparkling Whimsies
Summary: AU: After a fight with his boyfriend, Harry Potter goes for a late flight to calm his nerves. After accidentally sending himself to an alternate reality, Harry searches for something familiar to hold on to... and decides he wants his boyfriend Draco back.
1. Chapter One

A Deviation of Circumstance

by Sparkling Whimsies

Summary- AU: In a reality where Neville Longbottom is the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter is famous. He's the beloved son of Lily Potter and the famous Quidditch chaser James Potter, as well as the godson of both the famous beater Sirius Black and the world-renown novelist Remus Lupin. He's beginning to think he's falling for his boyfriend, the slightly sadistic Draco Malfoy. After a late-night flight after a fight with Draco, Harry finds himself lost in a place where everyone's convinced his parents and godfather are dead and _he's_ the Boy-Who-Lived.

Setting- Sixth Year

Rating - R

Chapter One: Alternate Universe Harry

-----

He felt as if fire was consuming him. Heat flowered in his stomach, burning through his veins and sensitizing his skin to his lover's touch. Pale hands with elegant fingers ran through his dark hair and teased him with whispery touches as gentle and fleeting as the touch of butterfly wings. Soft lips pressed against his own, and a warm tongue tasting of cinnamon and lust caressed the inside of his mouth. He writhed on the green silk sheets beneath him as the nude blonde over his equally unclothed form pushed his hips forward-

Harry Potter, disoriented and aroused, sat bolt upright in his bed in the Gryffindor dormitory, all alone within the concealing curtains of his four-poster. His breath came out in sharp pants. He angrily swatted his sweat-soaked fringe off his forehead. His watch read two-thirty in the morning.

'_Bloody dreams. Bloody Malfoy,'_ he thought angrily. He flopped back onto his bed with a frustrated sigh and tried to go back to sleep. The piercing image of silver eyes beneath blonde lashes chased him into the depths of slumber.

Deep within the dungeons, a blonde boy alone betwixt green silk sheets smiled beatifically in his sleep.

-----

"Harry, mate, you alright?" Ron asked worriedly. The redhead stood at the corner of his best friend's bed, holding the curtains aside and allowing a shaft of bright sunlight to shine on the dark expanse of blood red comforter. Harry looked terrible; he stared blankly at the ceiling, a sheen of sweat on his unblemished forehead. His deep green eyes, bared by his lack of glasses, looked clouded and lost in thought. He had dark circles under his eyes, and most embarrassingly, obviously had a raging hard-on.

Harry lifted his head to address the unfocused Weasley-colored blob silhouetted by sunlight at the end of his bed.

"My stupid boyfriend discovered a wonderful new curse - it induces dreams. Specifically, the dreams chosen by the sadistic caster, of course," he growled. "Guess what? Draco's so sodding randy he's got to attack me in my sleep." The common-place morning background noises Seamus, Dean, and Neville had been making stopped abruptly as his irritated grousing filled the room. _'Hmm...'_ Harry mused. _'Maybe hearing about their gay roommate's wet dreams is a _bit_ much this early in the morning.'_

"Er... right then," Ron said uneasily. He hurried of into the bathroom, blushing furiously.

Harry lay in his bed a while longer, listening to his roommates shuffle around the room preparing for the day and watching the dust motes in front of his nose drift aimlessly through the beam of sunlight.

'_Wonder if I can get away with sitting with Ron today in Potions...'_ he thought idly. Phantom fingers drifted over his torso, and Harry shivered. Goosebumps rose on his arms. _'He can screw with my daydreams too? Guess that idea's unlikely, then...'_

He shook his head and managed to force his stubborn limbs to drag themselves out of bed. Wearily grabbing a towel off the top of his trunk, Harry headed into the bathroom for a shower.

'_A _cold_ one.'_

-----

The dark scowl on Harry's face quickly cleared a path through the crowd of students on their way to dinner. The angry teen swept down the last flight of stairs and into the Entrance Hall, halting in front of the massive wooden doors leading outside. He turned, violently yanking his wand from an inner pocket of his robes and brandishing it at the staircase he had just descended. Many of the students on the stairs, well aware of his obviously foul mood and penchant for practical jokes, ducked or flinched.

"_Accio_ Firebolt," he snarled. He jammed his wand back into its pocket and waited with ill-concealed impatience. The broom sped down to him, zooming just overhead of the students and causing more ducking and flinching. Harry knew he'd feel badly about their reactions later, but he ignored the cringing students in favor of snatching his Firebolt out of the air and turning to storm out of the castle.

Once on the Quidditch pitch, the brunette mounted his broom and kicked off. His overly zealous kick sent him soaring upwards quickly enough to give the wind of his passing enough force to push his glasses down to the tip of his nose. Already he felt his dark mood begin to dissipate. Harry's scowl diminished, becoming a mere frown as he pulled his favorite trick: pulling the handle of his broomstick vertical, and then continuing until it was horizontal again and he was hanging from it upside down. He clamped his legs around the Firebolt and let his arms dangle as he muttered the spell to temporarily inhibit the broom's magic. Without its power to hover, the broom was just a shaft of wood between his knees as he reveled in the feeling of free-fall for just long enough to get close enough to the ground for his actions to have just the slightest element of danger. He said the counterspell to his broom and performed the barrel role his father, the famous Quidditch player James Potter, had taught him the summer before his second year.

As he became lost in the intoxicating sensations of flying, his row with Draco gradually seemed less horrible (even if it _was_ all Draco's fault; honestly, he had practically molested him in _Potions_, of all classes!), and his anger at Professor Snape for his malicious comments about the situation waned. Harry began laps of the pitch in an attempt to rid himself completely of the lingering venom of anger still in his system. Soon the laps metamorphosed into a series of stunts learned from his father and one of his godfathers (and _despised_ by his slightly over-protective mother), and Harry soon lost all track of time as the sun gradually dipped below the horizon.

Harry finally realized it was late when he found himself releasing a jaw-cracking yawn in the middle of a Wronski Feint. He pulled out of the steep dive, yawning a second time, to look at his watch. It was nearly nine; he'd miss curfew if he didn't hurry back to the dorms. A sudden flash of lightning from off beyond the lake clued him in to another important bit of information - there was a thunderstorm headed his way with almost unnatural speed.

Letting loose a string of mental curses his godfather Sirius would be inordinately proud of, Harry turned his broom toward Gryffindor tower and shot off at top speed. Before he was even halfway across the grounds, the roar of pouring rain caught up with him. The sudden weight of the falling droplets forced him down a few feet closer to the ground and had him completely soaked within seconds. Scowling furiously once again, Harry continued toward the warmth and, more importantly, dryness calling to him from his dormitory window.

All at once, every hair on Harry's body stood on end. Harry slowly turned his face up into the rain, a grim and terrifying suspicion growing in the edges of his mind. There was a sudden, brilliant flash of light, searing pain, and the familiar sense of free-fall. Darkness overwhelmed him.

-----


	2. Chapter Two

A Deviation of Circumstance

by Sparkling Whimsies

Summary- AU: In a reality where Neville Longbottom is the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter is famous. He's the beloved son of Lily Potter and the famous Quidditch chaser James Potter, as well as the godson of both the famous beater Sirius Black and the world-renown novelist Remus Lupin. He's beginning to think he's seriously falling for his boyfriend, the one-and-only Draco Malfoy. After a late-night flight after a fight with Draco, Harry finds himself lost in a place where everyone's convinced his parents and godfather are dead and he's the Boy-Who-Lived. Realizing he's stuck there permanently, Harry searches for something familiar to hold on to... and decides he wants his boyfriend back.

Setting- Sixth Year

Rating - R

Chapter Two: Alternate Universe Harry

-----

Every fiber of his being was being brutally burnt, causing a pain to rival the Cruciatus. He felt desiccated and sore and tormented by the all-encompassing _pain_... and out of the blue, it ebbed. A soothing feeling flooded his abused body, leaving healing in its wake and a feeling of drowsy relief. He cracked open an eye, revealing the blurry but familiar form of Madame Pomfrey leaning over him with her wand hand outstretched.

"T'anks, Ma'am Po'frey," Harry said thickly. His tongue didn't seem to want to cooperate. He laboriously cleared his throat and tried again. "Thank you. Please don' tell mum, she'll be... so... mad..." Harry found himself drifting off to sleep. Madam Pomfrey frowned down at him worriedly.

"I don't know who you are, boy, but I doubt very much your mum will be hearing about this any time soon."

When he next woke, it was daytime. He cautiously peered around the room, looking for any angry family members come to berate him for flying in the rain again. It looked as if he was off the hook, so he banished his thoughts of that dazzling light and the intense pain it had caused. He sat up carefully, wincing at the soreness in his legs and torso. He hooked a finger around his glasses, set -- as per usual -- on the table beside his bed, and set them on his nose. He pushed the blanket off of his legs and swung them off the bed. He gingerly stood. Smiling (because his legs didn't always hold his weight when he was in the Hospital Wing, the stupid things), Harry pushed aside the curtain around his bed and walked over to the closest window. Students were outside, playing a game of Quidditch without Quidditch robes on. He turned away from the window as a noise behind him alerted him to impending unpleasentness.

The door to Madam Pomfrey's office creaked open behind him. A foul odor accompanied the sound, and Harry's nose told him it couldn't be anything but an evil potion, no doubt 'for his own good'. He turned to face her, his most charming smile on his face.

"Good morning, Madam Pomfrey! How are you, you beautiful woman, you?" His face was all innocence, but the matron could see the devious gleam in his eye.

"I'm just fine, young man, so get back in bed! You'll take this potion, and then the Headmaster'll be down to see you," she said, briskly shepherding him back into his bed. She shoved the steaming goblet in front of his face and glared at him to drink it. Gingerly taking the cup from her and pinching his nose shut, Harry quickly chugged the entire lot. He flopped back on the bed as he got a sudden head rush.

"Whoa... now that's a potion," he said amusedly. Harry shook his head as he began feeling much better. A door creaked open again, this time to the hall outside. Professor Dumbledore, looking batty as usual in his turquoise robes, entered sedately. The elderly headmaster sat down in the chair beside Harry's bed, settling in and clasping his hands in his lap before him.

"Hello, young man. As headmaster here, I would like to welcome you to Hogwarts. May I ask your name?" said Dumbledore cheerily. Harry raised an eyebrow and decided to play along.

"Hello, Professor Dumbledore. I'm Harry Potter," Harry said. "Have you notified my mum of my rather... er, injudicious actions last night, or must I tell her that I've been flying in the rain again?"

A chill ran up Harry's spine, and he abruptly realized that something was wrong; the twinkle was missing from Dumbledore's eyes. A click from across the room alerted Harry when Madame Pomfrey locked the door. His back stiffened unconsciously.

"What's going on?" he asked, his voice deadly serious.

"That is exactly what I'd like to know," replied Dumbledore. "What is your true name, and from where did you come?" Harry looked him straight in the eye and responded.

"My name," he all but growled, "is Harry James Potter, son of Lily and James Potter. I came here from the grounds of Hogwarts, and my home in Godric's Hollow prior to that. I spoke to you five days ago, so what's bloody going on?"

"You were found halfway between the Quidditch pitch and the castle, lying on the grass near the groundskeeper's hut. You look uncannily like a student here by the name of Harry Potter, less his unique scar; you claim to be him, but speak of his parents as if they are alive. Tell me this: are you a singularly daft Death Eater, or have you another explanation?" Dumbledore's voice, usually so cheery and open around him, had turned deep and menacing; his eyes were like bits of steel, so cold and hard were they. Harry was completely mystified as to why one of his favorite people was acting in such a frosty way towards him.

"I _am_ Harry Potter. I've been a student at Hogwarts for almost six years now, and I have never, and will never, support that puffed-up proselytizer who calls himself the Dark Lord."

Harry slumped back onto his pillows; Dumbledore would believe him, or not. He'd only told the truth. Dumbledore stared at him with a vaguely disconcerting gaze; Harry felt as if his soul was being bared by that single piercing look. It seemed that Dumbledore believed him, as the old wizard nodded tersely.

"It seems we have a very unique position here; as far as I can tell, you've somehow been... zapped here, for lack of a better word. I believe that you have come from another reality entirely," Dumbledore said, seeming to regain his jolly outlook at the prospect of a solution. "Hmm... yes, I suppose we'll have to Sort you, and let you continue with your schooling for as long as you're with us! Yes, yes... Well, I'd best be off, Mr. Potter. I'll be seeing you later today," Dumbledore's twinkle was back in full force as he stood and left the Hospital Wing, humming under his breath.

-----

Two days later, Harry found himself in the headmaster's office, a decidedly mischievous-looking smile on the wizened wizard's face. Dumbledore had provided Harry with a trunk that was to be his for 'the duration of his visit', as Dumbledore had put it. Within it was a full wardrobe and set of school supplies, along with the miraculously unharmed Firebolt he had arrived on. The familiar Sorting hat was in Dumbledore's hands, in preparation for Harry's Sorting at dinner, which was to begin as soon as the headmaster made his way down to the Great Hall. With two loud cracks, a house-elf appeared and disappeared in moments, taking Harry's new trunk with it. (Harry thought it was wearing rather curious clothes... nearly a dozen badly-knitted hats upon its head and mismatched socks among them.) Dumbledore beckoned to the ebon-haired young man and went to stand before the door to the staircase.

"Are you ready, Mr. Potter?" he asked merrily. Harry was a little... well, not _disturbed_ by the amount of enjoyment Dumbledore was getting out of his little predicament, but nearly. He seemed to regard the whole thing as a great joke.

"As I'll ever be, I suppose, sir," Harry responded. "You're having rather too much fun with this, you know." Dumbledore nodded cheerfully.

"As I have little else nowadays have fun with, I do hope you'll excuse my enthusiasm, dear boy," Dumbledore said.

"If I must," Harry said resignedly. Dumbledore chuckled, and opened the door behind him with a flourish... only to have two red-faced and panting people fall through the doorway. Harry stepped back in alarm.

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, may I help you?" Dumbledore asked calmly. Ron stood and hauled Hermione up by the hand as he regained his breath.

"Harry's gone missing," Hermione panted. "We thought he'd just gone off to brood again, but he missed both breakfast and lunch, and now we can't find him _anywhere_, and... he's not on the Map, either!" she exclaimed fretfully. Ron stood beside her, and both looked up at him hopefully.

Dumbledore sent a glance in Harry's direction. His giddy little smile receded, and he motioned the anxious duo into the two chairs in front of his desk, and sat behind it himself.

"I believe I know where our Mr. Potter has gone." Hermione, and Ron, to a lesser extent, fairly melted in relief. "I believe he is in what you might call an alternate or parallel universe." The Headmaster held up a hand to forestall Hermione's inevitable questions. "Allow me to explain. Think of history as a thick cord, comprised of many smaller threads bound together. Now think of actions; major, and even minor, events are what split the cord. For example, in one of the 'threads', imagine a woman who is offered a choice between vanilla and chocolate ice cream. In one universe, she may choose vanilla, and in another chocolate. With that choice, two threads break away from each other. The worlds may be almost exactly identical, except for that woman's choice of flavor." Hermione looked tormented with the need to ask questions, or perhaps flee to the Hogwarts library to find a book to consult. Harry chuckled to himself, causing Ron to jump and Hermione to whirl around in her chair, almost falling out in surprise.

When he had stepped back after the two Gryffindor prefects had so gracefully fallen through the doorway, Harry found himself in the shadows cast by one of Dumbledore's bookcases and a large cabinet. Hermione and Ron hadn't noticed his presence until his telltale laugh. He stepped out of the shadow, grinning at this world's version of two of his three very best friends.

"Harry!" Hermione shrieked, throwing herself at him to crush him in a hug. He returned it, his amusement at the situation written all over his face. Hermione pulled back with a look on her face that boded no good for Harry. She gave him a shrewd, calculating look, and stepped back to face Dumbledore again. "He's from an parallel universe, isn't he, sir?" she demanded. Dumbledore nodded, his cheeky smile firmly back in place. "So where has our Harry gone?" Hermione asked nervously. Dumbledore gave her a reassuring look.

"I believe he's taken the place of the young man behind you. Cosmic balance, and all of that," the headmaster told her.

"But he'll be alright, won't he?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded, realized Hermione hadn't seen his nod, and spoke.

"He should be. Mum and Dad will prolly take him to Dumbledore, and if this one can figure it out, I reckon my Dumbledore can too," he said. He scratched his head sheepishly. "That is, if Mum notices he's not me first... she'll be rather cross with me, er... him, I imagine. She has this rule about flying in the rain, y'see." He shrugged casually. "I hope she doesn't chew him out for too long."

"Quite," said Dumbledore. "Well, I suppose we'll have to make the best of our situation. Mr. Potter, how good of an actor are you?"

Harry simply raised a challenging eyebrow.

-----

A/N: Well, all the feedback I've gotten so far has been good, and I'm certainly liking this story, so I expect the next chapter to be out by, oh... the twenty-fifth at the latest. I edited this chapter a little bit, to account for an extra Harry Potter floating around. I think I'll probably write an off-shoot fic to this one or maybe just do chapters here about the real Harry's time with his parents and Remus and Sirius and them. I do so love the Marauders.... Anyway, I hope you like this so far! Please review and give me your thoughts on the fic so far/constructive criticism/tips on the characters' (rather inferior) Brit-speak! Thanks for reading!

Review responses:

**Wingdance:** I'm glad you liked my little glimpse of Draco, and thank you for being my first reviewer!!

**Jaina2:** Thanks! The next chapter should be out soon, as I said (er... wrote) earlier.

**Anegativegrl:** Flattery will get you everywhere. Don't worry, Draco should be in the next chapter.

**mindfunk: **I love reviews about the literary and/or grammatical qualities of the fic. Thanks for your review! (And I like your penname, too... nifty!)


	3. Chapter Three

A Deviation of Circumstance

by Sparkling Whimsies

Summary- AU: In a reality where Neville Longbottom is the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter is famous. He's the beloved son of Lily Potter and the famous Quidditch chaser James Potter, as well as the godson of both the famous beater Sirius Black and the world-renown novelist Remus Lupin. He's beginning to think he's seriously falling for his boyfriend, the one-and-only Draco Malfoy. After a late-night flight after a fight with Draco, Harry finds himself lost in a place where everyone's convinced his parents and godfather are dead and he's the Boy-Who-Lived. Realizing he's stuck there permanently, Harry searches for something familiar to hold on to... and decides he wants his boyfriend back.

Setting- Sixth Year

Rating - R

Chapter Three

-

Harry sat, staring broodingly into the fire in the Gryffindor common room. His eyebrows were drawn together and his lips were twisted into a sullen scowl. At first, the angry-at-the-world act had been somewhat amusing, but now the glamourie of the scar he had grown up associating with Neville Longbottom, the Boy-Who-Lived, was beginning to be rather... itchy, for lack of a better word. It wasn't really a physical itch; there was the irritating sensation of dried sweat on his forehead, but all the scratching or scrubbing in the world wouldn't get rid of it. It crinkled whenever he used the muscles in his forehead or eyes, causing a singularly vexing feeling. He supposed he'd get used to it - eventually. _'Until then, fear the wrath of Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived!'_ he thought. He chuckled, rubbing his forehead with a certain amount of sardonic amusement. _'Of all the times I was jealous of Neville for being famous on his _own_ merit instead of famous parents...'_ Harry shook his head. _'Even if his scar was real, it must be horrid to be an orphan... I miss Mum and Dad and Jem and Rosie already. Wonder if this Harry's going out with anyone? Hmm... I'll ask Ron later. Hope it's not a girl.'_

Harry glanced up at the clock hung over the fireplace and stood. He was halfway to the portrait exit before he remembered that no longer did four thirty mean that Draco would be waiting for him after his daily session with Professor Snape. He didn't even know that Draco had the same arrangement; for all he knew, this Draco hated Professor Snape. _'Nah. Snape is his godfather, after all.'_

Harry shrugged and decided to go, regardless. It would do him some good to see his boyfriend, even if he wasn't the real thing. Maybe it would help his homesickness a bit. Although four days wasn't long, Harry was still missing the little things that were so familiar in his home. The brooding attitude became more pensive as he walked down the familiar path to the dungeons.

He missed the way that he could laugh and joke around with any of his year-mates; in this place, Seamus and Dean didn't seem to be all that close to him and Ron. He missed hanging out with his Slytherin friends. Apparently, Slytherins here were virtual non-entities to the Gryffindors, things to torment and scorn, but never people. What he most missed, though, was the support and love he got from his family. He was used to frequent letters from his godfathers Sirius and Remus, telling of Sirius's latest girlfriend or Remus's new plot for his next book. He found his eyes roving over the swarm of owls in the mornings, searching out the vibrant blue plumage of Sirius's owl. His father James thought found that owl utterly hilarious. For all the teasing he got from Draco about being a momma's boy, he wouldn't give up spending weekends in Hogsmeade with his parents for anything. His extended but tight-knit family was one of the things he most cherished, and he missed them sorely.

Harry rounded a corner, still lost in thought, only to crash into someone else. He managed to stay upright and instinctually grabbed the robes of the other, smaller person to keep them from falling. His hands were immediately brushed off.

"What do you think you're doing, Potter?" Harry's head jerked up. That achingly familiar voice speaking to him so angrily made his breath catch in his throat. He had to forcibly remind himself that he was _not_ at home, and it wasn't his confidant and boyfriend who was being so vicious.

"I... was just, I mean..." Harry stuttered. He made himself look away from those angry eyes, and cleared his throat. "I was just walking. I'm sorry I ran into you, D- Malfoy." Harry turned and walked away quickly, harshly scolding himself for his slip. He continued his angry mental monologue all the way back into his four-poster in the Gryffindor dormitory, where he threw himself onto the bed. Somewhere along the way, his diatribe had become a lecture for forgetting that he wasn't at home, and that Draco didn't hate him.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he chided. "Stupid world, stupid lightening!" Each word was matched by a dull thunk as Harry hit his head against his headboard. He had no idea how long he'd be stuck in this depressing, _wrong_ place, but at the pace he was going, he'd go mad within the week. He needed something familiar that he could hold on to, if only for a few moments... and he remembered the confrontation in the hallway.

A plan began to form in Harry's head. He let his head rest against the dark wood of his headboard and closed his eyes. A wicked smile played around his lips as the plan began to coalesce... _'Draco Malfoy, here I come.'_

-

The next morning, Hogwarts was treated to an unusual sight: Harry Potter in a good, nay, a _wonderful_ mood. He was walking around with his head held high, whistling a jaunty tune and grinning sunnily at everyone. Perhaps even more unusual was the way he was behaving toward his fellow students. In Defense Against the Dark Arts, he had paired up with one Blaise Zabini for a practice duel, and then proceeded to compliment the Slytherin's technique and speed after he had beat him! Harry had even offered to meet some time outside of class for a bit of practice. In the next class, he had volunteered to demonstrate a particularly difficult spell for Transfiguration, and then managed it flawlessly on the first try. He then returned to his desk (shared by himself and a dark-haired Ravenclaw boy by the name of Terry Boot), spewing humble remarks. For the rest of the day he had performed better than he had ever shown the potential or the willpower to, and didn't sit beside or partner with a Gryffindor in a single class. All throughout, he had oozed happiness and affability.

Harry was fairly proud of himself by day's end. He had implemented the first phase of his plan: get Hogwarts used to the Harry Potter _he_ was, instead of that sulking mass of angry teenager they were familiar with. Hopefully, he could decrease the level of open hostility between the Slytherins and Gryffindors, as it was really beginning to get on his nerves. It really was a bit off-putting when a person you're trying to get to know (or become reacquainted with, more precisely) was suspicious of your motives. (They didn't have to know that his motives weren't completely genuine; Draco was worth the deception, beyond any doubt.) Harry flopped into his bed content with the day's progress. Perhaps tomorrow would bring even more headway into that near-inaccessible thing called Draco Malfoy's heart.

He could do it; he _would_ do it. His last thoughts before he drifted peacefully off to sleep were a determined resolution. He would do it if it took all he had, for he had next to nothing without his family and friends.

-

_A/N: Okay, so this chapter's out a lot sooner then I anticipated. The end is rubbish, so expect a fair bit of editing. Remember: I absolutely **adore** constructive criticism! (And blatant admiration and/or hero worship is welcome as well. That's right, I'm a review addict!) I hope you enjoyed it. _


	4. Chapter Four

A Deviation of Circumstance

by Sparkling Whimsies

Summary- AU: In a reality where Neville Longbottom is the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter is famous. He's the beloved son of Lily Potter and the famous Quidditch chaser James Potter, as well as the godson of both the famous beater Sirius Black and the world-renown novelist Remus Lupin. He's beginning to think he's seriously falling for his boyfriend, the one-and-only Draco Malfoy. After a late-night flight after a fight with Draco, Harry finds himself lost in a place where everyone's convinced his parents and godfather are dead and he's the Boy-Who-Lived. Realizing he's stuck there permanently, Harry searches for something familiar to hold on to... and decides he wants his boyfriend back.

Setting- Sixth Year

Rating - R

Chapter Four: Alternate Universe Harry

-----

It took three full weeks for the student population of Hogwarts to adjust to Harry's true personality. He was still occasionally on the receiving end of a few surprised glances whenever he acted out of character. Instances where he was insulted usually warranted those looks, as he usually retorted with all appearances of amusement. Those of his Slytherin friends from home that he had sought out again had delighted (in a disdainful and aloof way only befitting of a Slytherin) in his "new-found" Slytherin tendencies, such as his rather morbid sense of humor. Hermione and his Ravenclaw friends liked to besiege him with confrontationally-worded questions designed to goad him into a long-winded discussion about controversial topics in the Wizarding world that their Harry Potter could have cared less about. The teachers, on the other hand, were either delighted or (in Snape's case) hopping mad. The Harry Potter they were seeing was an intelligent, polite, and capable young wizard. He could be counted on to answer questions in class correctly, if not with a bit of cheeky humor. He helped the other students without any prompting and could usually explain whatever the assignment was in a way so that the confused student more readily understood. Unfortunately for Professor Snape, this meant that his least favorite student gave him nothing that he could legitimately harangue him for. Unfortunately for Harry, this led to long diatribes about his father's arrogance and supercilious behavior. It was during those diatribes that Harry had the hardest time keeping his secret.

Draco Malfoy was thoroughly confused by the black-haired boy's behavior. Harry had not said one single malicious or even slightly unpleasant remark to him for nearly a month despite the nearly constant harassment on the blonde's part. A few times, Draco had even walked away feeling slightly ashamed of his behavior. For some reason unfathomable to Draco, Harry kept giving him these looks of disappointment - as if he was let down every time Draco said something uncharitable... as if he knew Draco was a better person than that. When he found himself trying to extract some hidden meaning from these looks, Draco generally took himself out to the Quidditch pitch to tire himself into thoughtlessness.

On one such Saturday afternoon, Draco found he had company on the pitch - Harry himself. Cursing under his breath, Draco landed and roughly set his brand-new Firebolt on his shoulder. As he began to storm back to the dungeons in a rage, a voice called him back.

"Hey Malfoy - you want to play a game of Quidditch?" Draco turned back around, prepared to verbally abuse the Gryffindor for intruding on his private time. The challenging smirk on Harry's face changed everything.

"You're on," he replied simply. Harry gave him a grin full of... something, and shot into the air. Draco followed wordlessly, watching as Harry pulled a snitch out of an inner breast pocket of his robes. He held it between them as they hovered.

"First to catch it wins. As the challenged, would you like to name the stakes?" Harry asked. Draco smirked provocatively.

"Whoever wins gets one question," he replied. "Just one, but the other must answer truthfully."

Harry grinned. He pulled his wand out of another inner robe pocket and held it upside down, with the grip pointing toward Draco. The blonde raised an inquisitive eyebrow and did the same, tapping the end of his wand to the other boy's and pocketing it again.

"Where did you learn that particular tradition? It's rather old, and pureblooded at that," he asked before he could stop himself. Harry smiled at him and released the snitch.

"Tsk, tsk, Draco. You don't get to ask a question until you win. Let's go."

For the next hour and a half, the two seekers put all of their considerable skill into catching the elusive gilt ball. Four times they were racing neck-in-neck after the tricky little ball, but each time it managed to get away for long enough for them to lose sight of it. When Harry had finally decided it was getting ridiculous and steeled himself to a forfeit, he sighted the snitch. It was almost exactly halfway between the two seekers in the center of the field.

Harry looked at Draco to see if he had seen it, to see that the blonde had and was looking at him to see if _he_ had seen it. A defiant came look into the Slytherin's eyes, and then he was off. Harry wasted no time in speeding toward him.

As his fingers curled gratifyingly around the snitch, Draco realized too little too late that he was on a collision course with his opponent. His eyes widened, and Harry's mouth opened. He said something, a spell from the sound of it, and suddenly Draco's stomach dropped. His brand-new broom had stopped working.

Draco didn't even have time to whip out his wand before Harry had dived, grabbed him, and settled the blonde in front of him on his broom in an extremely suggestive position.

Harry stared right into Draco's eyes. Draco straddled the broom, facing Harry, with Harry's arms around his waist in order to hold onto the broom handle behind him. Their chests were touching, and Draco's legs were thrown over Harry's and around his hips.

"What are you doing?" Draco breathed, slightly stunned by his brooms malfunction and Harry's quick recovery. Before he could realize he had just wasted his question, Harry's lips were upon his own, soft and warm. The Gryffindor pulled away momentarily to look deeply into a pair of confused silver eyes.

"Kissing you." He then proceeded to do just that, in an expertly and enormously pleasurable way.

Draco's head yanked back violently, his eyes wide and panicky. His weight immediately forced the broom down into a dive. Draco instinctively threw himself forward again to right the imbalance, finding himself in another searing kiss. He pulled away again more slowly.

"What the bloody fucking hell do you think you're doing, Potter?!" he yelled, scooting back on the broom. "You can't go and... you just... stop laughing, you lecher!" Harry sighed and shook his head as if he was dealing with an unreasonable child.

"I was kissing you. Haven't you ever been kissed before, Draco?" he asked impishly. "Or do you just need some more persuasion?" Harry yanked the broom upward, sending Draco crashing into him. He stole another kiss, snaking a hand inside of the other boy's robes to draw little circles in Draco's lower back with gentle fingertips. Harry smiled into their kiss when an unconscious groan came from Draco's throat. Draco pulled back again.

"I'll tell you what, Potter," Draco said thickly, his eyes dark and serious. "If we can relocate to a more private place, I'll allow you to try to persuade me a bit more."

Harry laughed and swiftly pushed the broom into a dive, causing Draco to clutch onto him for support. He accio'd Draco's broom and headed for the deserted Gryffindor locker rooms.

-----


	5. Chapter Five

A Deviation of Circumstance

by Sparkling Whimsies

Summary- AU: In a reality where Neville Longbottom is the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter is famous. He's the beloved son of Lily Potter and the famous Quidditch chaser James Potter, as well as the godson of both the famous beater Sirius Black and the world-renown novelist Remus Lupin. He's beginning to think he's seriously falling for his boyfriend, the one-and-only Draco Malfoy. After a late-night flight after a fight with Draco, Harry finds himself lost in a place where everyone's convinced his parents and godfather are dead and he's the Boy-Who-Lived. Realizing he's stuck there permanently, Harry searches for something familiar to hold on to... and decides he wants his boyfriend back.

Setting- Sixth Year

Rating - R

Chapter Five: Canon Harry

-----

Harry stretched sinuously, reveling in the laziness of a Saturday morning. He yawned, groping for his glasses. He settled them onto the bridge of his nose and sat up, looking blearily around the room. The room was empty, so Harry figured all of the others had already headed down to breakfast. Dean seemed to have moved his West Ham poster to the other side of his bed, and Seamus had apparently decided to distribute the contents of his trunk about the room. Mumbling sleepily about messy roommates, Harry grabbed a towel and headed for the bathroom.

After a hot shower to wake himself up, Harry descended the stairs into the Gryffindor common room. There were a few people from younger years either doing homework or playing Exploding Snap or Gobstones, but nobody Harry knew was in sight. He sighed heavily and began tromping down to the Great Hall for breakfast - or maybe lunch, he hadn't really looked at the time.

A curious thing happened on the way downstairs; as Harry walked through a patch of sunlight coming through a window, the light got into his eyes and brought a memory of a dream to the surface of his mind. He had had a terrifying dream of flying swiftly through the rain and being struck by lightening. Come to think of it, he was rather sore... He pushed the inexplicable dream into the back of his mind. Either something would come of it, or it would just fade from his memory as insignificant.

He reached the Great Hall, brooding about his poor attitude toward his best friends. He had been rather horrible lately; he usually ran off after lessons to sit by the lake and think, or sometimes go for a long flight on the Quidditch pitch. His normal posture was one of pensive broodiness, and he was always rather distant. Everyone was concerned about him, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care. Sometimes his indifferent attitude frightened him, but the apathy usually just consumed those feelings as well.

He jumped when Draco Malfoy came running up to him after he entered the Great Hall, an intense look on his face.

"We need to talk, Harry," he said, grabbing Harry's arm and pulling him bodily out the doors. Harry angrily yanked his arm away, sparing a single fleeting thought about the fact that anger was one of the only emotions he could actually experience.

"What's your problem, Malfoy?" he snarled. To his immense surprise, the blonde actually flinched. "I'd like to eat, if you don't mind terribly." Malfoy looked up at him with unconcealed pain in his silver eyes.

"Look, Harry, I apologize about Potions, alright? Why are you so angry?" he asked softly. Harry glared at him fiercely.

"What are you playing at? I just want to go eat, you great ferrety git. Leave me be," he snapped. He whirled around and stormed through the doors and up to the Gryffindor table, snatching a couple of croissants from a basket. He turned back around and stomped outside, fuming. He made his way angrily over to his favorite spot beside the lake. He threw himself down onto the grass beneath a weeping willow near the shore and angrily chomped on his breakfast.

He sighed gustily, his anger simmering just below the surface. He managed to calm down with immense effort. Trying to throw him off-balance in such a way was new for Malfoy, but not completely uncharacteristic. It showed a bit more of that intelligence Harry had seen lacking in the petty schemes, but had always seen glimmering in those unusually colored eyes. If Harry was perfectly honest with himself, he was intrigued by Draco Malfoy. Harry was a perceptive person, and had wondered about the way the blonde didn't seem to take advantage of the seemingly sizable intelligence his eyes always hinted at. There was definitely more to the Malfoy heir than meets the eye. Harry would have to keep an eye on him if Malfoy was getting more creative.

"Oy! There he is!" shouted a familiar voice. Harry found himself scowling at the intrusion, even if it was from one of his best friends. Sure enough, Ron and Hermione came jogging over moments later. "Hiya, Harry. What're you doing over here?" he asked, plopping down onto the ground beside his brooding classmate. Hermione smiled at him worriedly and sat down primly on the other side.

"I'm just thinking," Harry replied. "Malfoy was acting really peculiar this morning. I got a bit angry," he said quietly. Hermione looked concerned.

"Are you still angry with him about your fight?" she asked. "Why's it such a big deal this time? He's always going after you in class." Harry gave her an incredulous look.

"'Still angry'?" he said. "What on earth are you going on about? We haven't had any really bad fights lately, except for that little dueling thing in Defense. And that was for a demonstration, so it's not really my fault that he got burnt," he said, confused. Hermione and Ron were apparently baffled too.

"Are you feeling alright, mate? You didn't do anything like that in Defense... You need to see Madame Pomfrey?" Ron looked genuinely concerned, but Harry just got angry.

"What is this? Are you two playing some sort of joke? Trying to get me to 'snap out of it' again?" He sneered derisively. "Just bugger off. I know all your arguments now. 'Sirius's death wasn't your fault, Harry', 'It's all Voldemort's fault, Harry'," he mocked. "Well, guess what!" he yelled, getting a perverse feeling of enjoyment from venting at his shocked friends. "It's not Voldemort's bloody fault! He tricked me, and I fell for it! Sirius is _dead_, and so are Cedric and my parents, and it's _all my fault_!"

Harry felt liberated, as if the dam had broken and all of his insecurities and anger and pain was just pouring out in an uncontrollable deluge. He yanked the fringe off his forehead, gesturing wildly to his scar.

"See this? You want to know why Voldemort gave it to me? **_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies... _**Guess who," he finished brokenly. "He came for me, and my parents died because of it. It's all my fault," he whispered. He sank back down onto the ground._ "All my fault." _

He missed the anxious look that passed between Ron and Hermione above his bowed head. He slumped soundlessly to the ground as Hermione sent a stunner right at his head.

-----

Harry woke in the Hospital Wing, surrounded by the blurry shapes of eight people. He retrieved his glasses on the bedside table and put them on, and received the biggest shock of his life.

Surrounding him were Ron and Hermione, Headmaster Dumbledore, Remus, Sirius, and his parents. He immediately felt lightheaded. His green eyes wide, he jerkily looked between Sirius and his parents; they all looked so _different_! Sirius's eyes were shining with worry, without that dark stain Azkaban had left in his eyes. He was in wonderful shape, no longer thin and ragged, but hale and hearty. His parents (he was looking at his parents!) looked older than they did in any of his pictures of them. His mother was breathtakingly beautiful, with a shining mane of wavy red hair cascading around her shoulders. His father had the same hair he saw every day in the mirror, and a pair of thin silver wire glasses perched on his nose. He held Harry's mother warmly in his arms, his golden wedding band glinting at Harry from his left hand. Harry found his breath caught in his throat. They were perfect.

"Are you alright, love? You look pale," his mum said to him, bringing a hand up to his forehead. He just stared at her face, his green eyes dull and uncomprehending.

"Mum. And Dad, and Sirius," he said, looking at each in turn. He turned to look at Dumbledore. "Sir, I think I'm hallucinating," he said clearly. The Headmaster frowned at him.

"Mr. Potter, I assure you that your parents and godfather are in fact standing before you." Harry's mind boggled.

"Something's wrong. First I have a dream about getting hit by lightening, and then that snobbish, pureblood-obsessed git Malfoy starts acting all wonky like we haven't hated each other for the last six years. Next thing I know, I finally tell my best friends about the goddamn prophesy Sirius was killed for, and they Stun me. I wake up and I'm surrounded by dead people," he said dully. "I think I've gone mad."

Lily Potter brought a hand up to her mouth, a disturbed look on her face. "Oh, Harry," she breathed. "What happened to him, Professor?" she asked the Headmaster distraughtly.

"Last night at exactly midnight, the wards picked up a huge magical surge coming from the same source at two different locations: Harry's bed in Gryffindor tower, and a spot about sixty feet above the ground in front of Hagrid's hut. This surge coincided with a lighting bolt through the spot in midair. The wards registered Harry Potter, flying in the air one moment, getting struck by lightening, and then in bed. I believe that your son is no longer in this universe. Furthermore, I believe that this young man has replaced him from the same universe your son was taken to in an act of scale-balancing on a cosmic level." Stunned silence greeted the old wizard's words. Harry found darkness creeping up on the edges of his overloaded mind. He surrendered willingly, dropping back onto his pillows in a dead faint.

_-----_


	6. Chapter Six

A Deviation of Circumstance

by Sparkling Whimsies

Summary- AU: In a reality where Neville Longbottom is the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter is famous. He's the beloved son of Lily Potter and the famous Quidditch chaser James Potter, as well as the godson of both the famous beater Sirius Black and the world-renown novelist Remus Lupin. He's beginning to think he's seriously falling for his boyfriend, the one-and-only Draco Malfoy. After a late-night flight after a fight with Draco, Harry finds himself lost in a place where everyone's convinced his parents and godfather are dead and he's the Boy-Who-Lived. Realizing he's stuck there permanently, Harry searches for something familiar to hold on to... and decides he wants his boyfriend back.

Setting- Sixth Year

Rating - R

Chapter Six: Canon Harry

-----

"This world is too weird for words," Harry told the white ceiling. He was still stuck in the Hospital Wing, because he had refused to tell Dumbledore his life story. They therefore didn't know the reason for his depression and deemed it necessary for him to stay in the Wing for a bit longer. Just two hours ago, he had met 'his' younger siblings, a third-year brother named Jem and a first-year named Rose, or Rosie. Rosie had climbed right up on his bed after being introduced to him by his mum, and proceeded to hug the breath out of him. 'What was that for?' he had asked. She had matter-of-factly told him that he looked like he needed a good hug. And then she hugged him again.

Jem had a lively sense of humor that seemed to be on par with Harry's own: a tad ironic. Rosie jabbered at him, telling him everything he needed to know about this reality, and some things he didn't. She sat in his lap for most of the visit, and Harry had been uncomfortable at first, but had gradually come to enjoy being around the happy little girl. When they had left, both of them had given him a kiss on the cheek in a manner that suggested they didn't even have to consider it. _'Their Harry must have been really affectionate,'_ Harry mused. He had to admit, he rather liked it. He didn't have many people who he considered to be familiar enough to touch casually like that. Maybe he'd be able to be demonstrative with Hermione, but Ron was male, and after growing up with the Dursleys, Harry thought that everyone would think he was gay or something if he was anything less than manly around him.

Of course, that didn't seem to matter, as apparently he was dating Draco Malfoy. Of all the things to be different, that was the most shocking. Of course, he had seemed different this morning, but Harry had automatically chalked it up to a tactic made to push his off-balance. To be sure, it had, but not for that intention. Now, looking back, Harry could see that Draco really _had_ been sorry. He had yet to find out what had happened in Potions, but he also figured he might not want to.

"Harry?" A hesitant voice, familiar but different, came from the other side of the curtain around his bed. "May I come in?" the voice asked softly. Harry sat up, to see a slim but tall silhouette against the curtain. He still couldn't place the figure.

"Sure," he replied. The curtain was pushed aside to reveal Draco himself. He looked a little bit different than Harry remembered; he was a little thinner, and his hair wasn't harshly slicked back, allowing silvery-blonde strands to fall into his eyes. The eyes held the biggest difference of all: they were warm. They shone with warmth, and worry, and something that Harry almost recognized but refused to believe was love. The blonde was very singularly himself.

"Umm... Well, your dad just told me what happened. I just wanted to apologize for dragging you out of the Great Hall," he said. He fidgeted uncomfortably, something the Malfoy he knew would never knew. Emotions, according to the other, were a weakness. This Draco seemed to be okay with being "weak".

"No, you didn't," Harry replied, looking the other boy in those warm silver eyes. "Well, that might be part of it, but you were curious about me, too." Draco's eyes widened, and Harry smiled lopsidedly. "I've spent the last six years trying to read eyes exactly like yours, except frozen. You're practically an open book," he said.

"Oh," Draco said. "Well, I suppose you knew me at home. My eyes are frozen? That's rather more poetic than the Harry I know," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Yes, well," Harry blustered. He'd never been called _poetic_ before. "They are. Like chips of ice or stone or something." He realized he was being poetic again, and blushed. "Sorry. He's my... er, rival, I suppose. One of them, anyway." Draco saw him beginning to space out and touched his knee.

"One of them? How many enemies could one person have?" he asked, half-joking. Harry snorted sardonically.

"You'd be surprised," he answered. He lifted the fringe off of his forehead. Draco's eyes widened comically at the sight of his scar. "Voldemort and all of his Death Eaters sort of come part and parcel with this," he said. "Of course, that means death threats and my friends getting murdered, but who cares? I'm the bloody Boy-Who-Lived! Fame is all I need, right?" he grumbled darkly. He shook his head, remembering his audience. "Sorry 'bout that." Draco looked at him concernedly.

"I think what you need is some time to relax. You can do that here," the blonde told him. "Nobody thinks you're the Survivor, you're just James Potter's kid. Of course, being the son of a famous Quidditch player will get you some attention, but I think you can handle it." He grinned, inviting Harry to smile with him. "I don't know if Dumbledore wants you to act like our Harry, but I'll help you out all I can. I don't think Harry'll mind, and he'll probably pester your version of me, as well."

Harry stared at him, a bit nonplussed. "Why are you helping me like this? I was really nasty to you, hell, everyone! this morning, and you're still really polite and you want to help me adjust. I just... everything's so different," Harry said. Draco smiled gently, patting him on the knee again.

"You'll get used to it," he said comfortingly. He waved negligently with one hand and turned to leave. He pushed aside the curtain and paused. "If you need anything, just tell your wand my name. I'll come running."

The blonde left feelings of puzzlement and, oddly enough, peace behind. Harry lay back onto his pillows, feeling much less angry and more confused. This Draco warranted some thought.

'_Hmm... Uncle Vernon was wrong. I think I like Draco better gay,'_ Harry thought, with no little amount of amusement. He settled in for some serious introspection.

-----

_Alternate Universe Harry:_

Harry had flown them right into the locker rooms, landing and pressing Draco against the closest wall. He kissed Draco feverishly, pulling on the blonde's clothes. Draco let out an animalistic growl, and yanked his shirt off over his head. He then gave Harry's t-shirt the same treatment before pulling him back into another kiss. Harry pulled away to suck on Draco's pulsepoint in his neck, loving the way their bare chests, covered with a light sheen of sweat from their long flight, felt against each other. Draco moaned deep in his throat and pulled Harry's head up to kiss him again. Harry complied happily, grinding his pelvis forward into the other boy's and delighting in the visceral reactions from Draco.

Draco suddenly pulled away from Harry and pushed him away, shaking his head.

"Stop, Potter. We can't do this," he panted, his eyes dark. "If anybody found out - if my _father_ found out-" Draco sighed heavily. "Just leave me alone."

Harry stepped forward, slamming him into the wall again and pushing his hips forward. "We'll work it out," he grunted. "I know you want this." The friction was driving both of them crazy; Draco didn't know if he could resist if Potter kept stayed determined. "We'll go somewhere else, if you want." Potter's voice was husky and deep, sending jolts of pleasure through Draco's body. When he spoke, he realized that his voice had deepened as well, and seemed to have the same effect on the Gryffindor.

"I know exactly what I want, and being murdered by my own father is not on that list," he bit out. "Even if a few moments of pleasure is." Harry looked up at him through his lashes, a feral smile on his swollen lips.

"Oh, this could last more than a few moments..." he rumbled. And then he proved that it could.

-----


	7. Chapter Seven

A Deviation of Circumstance

by Sparkling Whimsies

Summary- AU: In a reality where Neville Longbottom is the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter is famous. He's the beloved son of Lily Potter and the famous Quidditch chaser James Potter, as well as the godson of both the famous beater Sirius Black and the world-renown novelist Remus Lupin. He's beginning to think he's seriously falling for his boyfriend, the one-and-only Draco Malfoy. After a late-night flight after a fight with Draco, Harry finds himself lost in a place where everyone's convinced his parents and godfather are dead and he's the Boy-Who-Lived. Realizing he's stuck there permanently, Harry searches for something familiar to hold on to... and decides he wants his boyfriend back.

Setting- Sixth Year

Rating - R

Chapter Seven: Alternate Universe Harry

-----

Harry fidgeted, chewing on the end of his quill. He was seated on one of the large couches in the Gryffindor common room, pretending to do his homework and daydreaming about the slim blonde somewhere in the castle. The dull sound of intermittent conversation from the other Gryffindors was a familiar and comforting background noise. Ron, sitting beside him, loudly blew and popped a bubble with his Droobles Best Blowing Gum. Hermione spared a moment to tut at him from her position, as perched on the edge of a recliner and leaned over to the small table her books were on. Harry rose and stretched languorously.

"I'll see you guys later, alright? I'm going for a walk," Harry said nonchalantly, placing his parchment inside his Charms book and his book into his bag. He Banished his bag up to his room and turned to go, planning on seeking out that delicious Slytherin.

"Harry, who is she?" Hermione asked quietly. Harry froze in place, amazed. "Who is it that you keep sneaking away to see?" All of his excuses died on his lips as the dark haired boy turned and met Hermione's implacable stare. He returned to his place on the couch with some hesitancy, perching on the edge of his seat like a bird prepared for flight.

_'Gods, coming out was hard enough at _home_!'_ he wailed mentally. Hermione, picking up on his obvious discomfort, laid her quill aside and closed her books.

"You've got a secret girlfriend, aye mate? Who is she, then?" Ron asked genially. Harry tried to swallow the lump in his throat. _'Why is this so difficult?'_ Harry thought.

"Well... it's not a she, Ron," Harry said to his feet. Ron choked on his gum. Harry sighed. "I'm gay. I'm sorry I didn't tell your earlier, it's just..." Harry sighed again, shaking his head. "You're not mad, are you?" he asked meekly, chancing a look up at his friends. Suddenly he found himself wrapped in Hermione, who was fervently reassuring him that she still loved him just as much as before and she _completely_ supported him, and that she was _sure_ she'd love his boyfriend as well. That statement made Harry's shoulders shake with barely concealed laughter. The bushy haired girl took his shaking for heaving sobs, and began petting his head and crooning to him.

Harry was acutely aware of the stares their little group was gathering, what with Ron coughing and spluttering and the normally composed Hermione rocking a "sobbing" Harry and crooning. Regrettably, that observation only brought harsher "sobs", as he had to gasp for breath through his laughter. _'I must look like a complete twit!'_ Harry thought. For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to care at the moment.

Unfortunately, he seemed to have been overheard... there was whispering (something that was never good, in Harry's experience), and Harry distinctly heard the word "gay". He sighed gustily and swiped a hand across his eyes for show. He gave Hermione a faint smile and gifted Ron with a hurt look.

"I think I'm going to lie down for a bit," Harry said loudly, watching amusedly as heads quickly turned away from the infamous trio. He turned and walked upstairs to his dorm room, a hidden smirk flitting around the corners of his mouth. _'Mission accomplished...'_

-----

Harry stubbornly ignored the whispers and pointed fingers as he entered the Great Hall for dinner, flanked by Ron and Hermione. As he walked down the aisle between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables, the chatter broke off, just to pick up even louder as soon as he was past. By the time he'd reached his seat near the Head Table, his resolution not to get angry (as he _had_ asked for it purposely, after all) flew out the window. He approached Dumbledore up on the dais and tried to remember not to gnash his teeth.

"Sir, might I make an announcement?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm. Dumbledore just twinkled at him and waved a negligent hand as if to say, "be my guest." Harry thanked him and turned to glare at the student body, motioning for Ron and Hermione to take their seats.

"To answer the questions you really have no right to ask," he announced, "yes, I am gay, no, I won't tell you who I'm seeing, and _no, Colin,_" he growled, "I will _not_ pose for any bloody pictures. Thank you." Harry strode angrily to his seat and glared around the Hall to fend off the stares. Students cringed satisfyingly.

Harry ignored everyone but Ron and Hermione for the entirety of the meal, except to send a reductor curse in the direction of Colin's camera. All in all, Harry was fairly happy with his efforts.

-----

_Canon Harry:_

Harry descended the large marble staircase into the Entrance Hall with some trepidation, deliberating with himself... was he really ready for his charade? The chattering crowd around him swept him down quickly toward lunch, and Harry began wondering if perhaps he should have stayed in the Hospital Wing for the rest of the day and tried for breakfast with the rest of his classmates on Monday... maybe he'd feel better about this after the weekend. Most of his required act he thought he could handle without too much of a problem, but acting like Draco Malfoy's boyfriend? _That_ was going to be a bit of a stretch.

As if his thoughts had summoned the Slytherin, Draco came up from the corridor to the dungeons just as Harry left the last step. It was an unfamiliar but not wholly unwelcome feeling to see the Slytherin's face light up instead of sneering at the sight of him. Draco rushed over to him, startling Harry by pulling him into a quick hug. The quick kiss on his cheek was even more unexpected. Harry covered up his surprise by kissing Draco's cheek in return.

"Hey Harry. You feeling better now?" Draco asked, an amused glint in his eyes from Harry's reaction. "Or did Madam Pomfrey traumatize you permanently?" Harry laughed. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard.

"She's not so bad, Draco," Harry said. "I mean, she's really alright if you ignore all the potions she force feeds you." Draco laughed.

"Whatever you say, Harry," the blonde said amusedly, slinging an arm around Harry's waist. They parted ways after entering the Great Hall, and Harry tried to ignore the looks Draco sent his way all through lunch.

-----

Harry flopped tiredly onto the couch in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room. It had been a long day, even if he'd only had to go to three classes. The act was going to be harder to keep up than he could have ever imagined.

During Transfiguration, he'd sat next to Draco. The blonde had whispered something in his ear about not jumping Harry couldn't quite make out, and then proceeded to place his hand on Harry's leg. He had barely restrained his urge to bolt. Draco had kept a steady stream of muttering up, telling him that 'this is completely normal, just ignore it, my Harry doesn't care, just keep up the act, McGonagall won't say anything yet...' Draco had just gotten worse in Charms.

The problem wasn't so much that Draco would touch him... it was that he was beginning to actually _like_ it. He had sternly reminded himself that he was straight continuously throughout the day, to no avail. Draco's wandering hands were actually... enjoyable. Unfortunately, the constant mantra of_' No! It's bloody Malfoy! You're straight! Girls, girls, girls..._' had been running through his head all day, causing Harry a headache from arguing with himself by the time Charms was over.

_'This is going to be a _lot_ harder than I thought,'_ Harry thought. He angrily banished thoughts of Draco's touches and pulled out his books to begin his homework.

-----

Harry had finally capitulated. He was scheduled to talk with Dumbledore up in the his office in just minutes, to tell him the story of his life. Dumbledore hoped to be able to find something that had been done in Harry's world against Voldemort that could be employed in this world as well. Harry knew the recounting of his past was probably going to suck royally because of all of the traumatic things in it, but he didn't really have much of a choice, the way Dumbledore had badgered him about it. Steeling himself to a night of painful recitation, Harry made his way to the gargoyle and told it the password. He staircase revolved slowly and Harry let it take him up instead of walking. He hesitantly knocked on the thick wooden door to the office.

The dull murmur of talk from within ceased at his knock and the door was soon pulled open by Remus Lupin. Harry momentarily found himself forgetting the fact that he was not at home to smile widely at the man who had mentored him in his third year.

"Hullo, Professor Lupin! How've you been?" Harry asked. His smile faltered as the memory of his surroundings came crashing back at the sight of all of the small differences in the tall sandy-haired man. This man was wearing a robe that was obviously well-made, and he had a more youthful countenance than that of the Lupin that Harry was familiar with. "Er, sorry... you taught Defense in my third year, and..." Harry trailed off sheepishly, blushing.

"Oh, it's quite all right," Lupin replied, ushering him inside and closing the door. Harry saw to his surprise that Lupin wasn't the only unexpected addition to the little party; James, Lily, and Sirius were all present as well. "Was I any good?" he joked. Harry took the seat offered to him between James and Sirius, directly in front of Dumbledore's desk. Remus sat on the opposite side of Sirius, while Lily was beside James.

"The best," Harry emphatically replied. "You taught me the Patronus Charm." Lupin looked surprised.

"That's advanced magic! Seventh year material, at least! Why on earth would you need to learn the Patronus Charm?" he asked. Harry smiled mirthlessly.

"Dementors were guarding the school, and I have a rather... severe reaction to them," Harry told them. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow behind his steepled fingers.

"What terrible even would cause Hogwarts to require Dementors as guardians?" Dumbledore asked. "I can't imagine ever allowing Dementors on school grounds, for any reason."

"Sirius had escaped from Azkaban, and Fudge, that bumbling idiot who calls himself the Minister for Magic, thought my own godfather wanted to murder me," Harry said. "The Dementors really didn't help with anything except Honeydukes' chocolate sales." Lupin, James, and Sirius laughed at his attempt at a joke, though Harry could tell it was strained. Lily looked vaguely horrified, and Dumbledore kept his usual calm appearance.

"Why was I in Azkaban? How did I escape? It's never been done..." Sirius asked. Harry sighed and removed his glasses to rub his eyes.

"I'll just start at the beginning, shall I? It all started on Halloween, 1981..."

And so Harry told them all there was to know about his life, only excluding a few more personal and private facets of his life (his "care", or rather lack thereof, from the Dursleys and Cho's wet, sloppy kiss among them). It took rather a long time, and so when Harry was finally allowed to stumble back to his dorm room, exhausted mentally, emotionally, and physically, he wanted nothing more than to fall immediately and deeply asleep. And so he did.


	8. Chapter Eight

A Deviation of Circumstance

by Sparkling Whimsies

Summary- AU: In a reality where Neville Longbottom is the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter is famous. He's the beloved son of Lily Potter and the famous Quidditch chaser James Potter, as well as the godson of both the famous beater Sirius Black and the world-renown novelist Remus Lupin. He's beginning to think he's seriously falling for his boyfriend, the one-and-only Draco Malfoy. After a late-night flight after a fight with Draco, Harry finds himself lost in a place where everyone's convinced his parents and godfather are dead and he's the Boy-Who-Lived. Realizing he's stuck there permanently, Harry searches for something familiar to hold on to... and decides he wants his boyfriend back.

Setting- Sixth Year

Rating - R

A/N: The words in italics at the beginning of the writing indicate which Harry I'm talking about in the passage immediately afterward, not where he is; for example, Alternate Universe Harry means AU Harry in the canon universe. I just thought I'd clarify, just in case it wasn't entirely clear. Enjoy!

Chapter Eight

-----

_Alternate Universe Harry:_

A month after he had 'tearfully' come out in the Gryffindor common room, Harry walked stiffly through the hall towards Dumbledore's office, hands clenched tightly into fists in an attempt to keep his twitching fingers from latching onto his wand and cursing everyone and everything in sight. His face was set in a murderous glare, warning everyone to stay away from the impending thunderstorm that was Harry in his current mood. The black and purple bruise on his left cheekbone just made his stormy countenance all the more frightening.

Twenty minutes earlier, before breakfast, a group of Slytherins had cornered Harry, Hermione, and Ron in the Entrance Hall. The group of eight, including Theodore Nott, Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe, and Pansy Parkinson among others, were all those Slytherins who had resolutely resisted Harry's attempts to befriend them. They had made several cracks at Harry about his sexuality, alluding to a relationship between Ron and him. Ron grew an angry red, and Hermione prepared to restrain the temperamental redhead, though suppressed fury was apparent on her face as well. Their aggressors got in several more sexual gibes before Harry had finally snapped. He had dropped the cheerful aura he had been cultivating to fire off a round dozen curses at the slimy lot of them, drop his wand, and leap snarling at them. He had surprised even bellicose Ron.

He got a no end of savage satisfaction out of the fact that not one of them had escaped without at least a bruise or a busted lip, and he thought he may even have broken Nott's nose. Unfortunately, it was Severus Snape who eventually came upon the brawl. He had taken in the scene with a glance, seen that his Slytherins were being beaten to a bloody pulp with two stunned Gryffindors just watching on, and immediately blamed the entire ordeal on Harry (whom he'd had to pry off the pile of bruised and bleeding Slytherins by brute force). He had taken a shocking two hundred points from Gryffindor and sent Harry to Dumbledore's office.

Harry released a feral roar as he reached the gargoyle that was the entrance to Dumbledore's office. He angrily swung his fist, already bruised from pummeling the Slytherins, at the stone wall. He heard something crack. His anger left him all at once, as he had known it would. He barely had time to register the dull ache before his muttered healing spell fixed the damage. Harry leaned against the wall to wait, as Snape hadn't told him the password.

Harry turned as he heard the entrance to the headmaster's office open. Dumbledore walked out, looking down at him from the bottom step of the staircase in concern.

"Are you quite alright, Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore asked. "Would you like to come into my office?" Harry nodded, pocketing his wand.

"Professor Snape sent me. I - er... got into a fight with some Slytherins in the Entrance Hall," Harry said calmly. He didn't think the punishment would be too severe, as everyone in this universe seemed to think that he was a gift from above. The pair reached the office and settled into chairs on either side of Dumbledore's desk. The old wizard steepled his fingers and looked at Harry reproachfully over the rims of his half-moon glasses.

"I'm sure you're aware that fighting of any kind is against the rules, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said. "As such, I have no choice but to give you detention. I am certain that you had what you believed to be due cause to start a fist fight, but in this situation, my hands are tied. You will report to Madame Pince in the library every night at eight o'clock for the next three weeks, and at the end of that period I expect you to have completed six feet of parchment on alternate realities and theories surrounding this phenomenon." Dumbledore settled back in his chair. "Now you'd better head to Transfiguration. Missing breakfast won't do you any great harm, this once."

Harry sighed and headed down the stairs. Glancing at his wristwatch, he saw he was already five minutes late. _'Wonderful way to start a day,'_ he thought acerbically.

-----

_Canon Harry:_

Harry had never been so glad to see the Gryffindor common room. It had become his safe harbor in the midst of the raging storm of confusion and hormones that his life had become.

After a month of Draco's little caresses and whispers in class, Harry thought he would go mad. He could no longer tell himself that he didn't like the blonde touching him; Draco seemed to know every sensitive spot on his body. How he had found them, Harry didn't want to know... until, of course, Draco was touching one. Then he found himself wanting to find all of Draco's little spots, wanting to make Draco moan his name, wanting to make Draco want him to... Harry shook his head to clear it. Those thoughts led somewhere he wasn't ready to think about. Harry didn't know what to think most of the time, these days - Draco was so different from the Malfoy he knew, and sometimes he wished that he _was_ this Malfoy's Harry, if only so that his life would make sense again. _'Well, as much sense as it ever did,'_ he amended mentally.

And Draco wasn't the only confusing thing either. Neville Longbottom as the Boy-Who-Lived was something else he had trouble wrapping his mind around as well. Neville had this sort of quiet air of power, of determination around him - of pain, as well. He had that look in his eyes that Harry knew so well from his own reflection, that look of strength forged from the fires of watching someone die before your eyes, helpless to stop it, and from being forced to grow up too quickly. Harry often caught Neville looking at him through his eyelashes as if he was trying to figure something out about him. Harry knew that Neville sensed something off about him, and just hoped that Neville wouldn't figure it out.

Harry flopped into an armchair tiredly, staring broodingly into the fire. He was beginning to think that he'd never get home, and that frankly terrified him. He'd never see his Ron and Hermione ever again, never talk to the people that he had gotten to know so well here at Hogwarts and gone on adventures with all those years in a row. He'd never... he'd never be seen as the Boy-Who-Bloody-Well-Lived. He'd never be put on a pedestal just to be knocked into the dirt the next moment, he'd never be whispered about in the hall... He'd get to be with his parents. His godfather. His favorite professor, Lupin.

_'Well, why not? Would it really be such a bad thing to stay here forever?'_ he wondered. He didn't have the weight of the world and that damn prophesy on his shoulders here, he had parents and _two_ godfathers here who loved him. _'Hell, I've even got a boyfriend who wants to shag me silly!'_ Harry surprised himself as a half-hysterical giggle came bubbling out of his throat.

As the prospect of staying began sounding better and better to himself, something occurred to him in a horrifying flash of insight: in his universe, Ron and Hermione would die if he wasn't there to defeat Voldemort. He suddenly felt lower than dirt. How could he even _consider_ staying here, when everything at home hinged on his duty to get rid of Voldemort, once and for all? So many people had already been hurt, trying to stop Voldemort... but without Harry, their sacrifice would be in vain. His parents' sacrifice would mean nothing.

_'Well, if I've got to go back, I might as well live it up while I'm stuck here,'_ he decided firmly. _'Draco can't be all that bad if this version of me liked him.' _Harry smiled lasciviously as he thought of how surprised Draco would be when he found out about Harry's new attitude...

-----

Draco hadn't been as happy as Harry had hoped.

After verbally greeting Draco at the base of the staircase in the Entrance Hall that morning, Harry had kissed him full on the mouth instead of the cheek. In Charms, their first shared class of the morning, Harry had returned Draco's little touches for the first time. As the day wore on and Harry's caressing fingers grew bolder, Draco became more and more artificial. Harry had learned what that carefully performed acting meant - Draco was angry or upset with him, and didn't want him to know. Harry had finally given up in Transfiguration, keeping his hands - and his angry thoughts - to himself. The Gryffindor cornered the blonde in an empty classroom after McGonagall dismissed them for lunch, hoping to discover the reason for the blonde's artifice.

"Harry, why'd you push me in here?" Draco asked. "I'm hungry; let's get to lunch." Harry didn't reply, instead spelling the door shut and levering himself up to sit upon a desk. "Harry, what's the matter with you?" Draco asked, irritation now clear on his face and written into the lines of his body. Harry slowly and deliberately placed his wand on the desk beside himself, glaring fiercely.

"What's the matter with me? You, you prat! First you're all over me in class, and then when I return the favor, you go frigid! The matter is that you're a bloody great hypocrite!" Harry said fiercely, trying to contain his anger.

"Yeah, well you're not the one who has a boyfriend already, are you? Did you ever think that I might feel badly about _cheating on him?_" Draco hissed back, eyes narrowed in anger. Harry gave him a look as if he was being unbelievably dense.

"Feel bad about cheating, do you? I might never get to go home, you git! I could be stuck here forever, and you'll never see your precious boyfriend ever again!" Harry sneered at him, feeling a surge of sick triumph at the sight of the hurt on the other boy's face. As Draco's face crumpled, Harry deflated, regretting what he had said instantly. "Oh, bloody _hell_," Harry said. "I'm suck a prick," he muttered, angry at himself. Draco turned to hide his face, but Harry jumped off the desk to impulsively grab the blonde's arm and pull him into a rough hug, surprising both of them. "I'm sorry," he murmured before releasing him. The messy-haired boy stared down at the floor in shame. "I just..." Harry trailed off, feeling inadequate. He slowly sank down into the chair behind him, bracing his elbows onto his knees and dropping his head into his hands.

Why was it that no one ever wanted him? First was Albus Dumbledore - foisting him off on the Dursleys, who were second on the list of those who rejected him. Every summer, Harry went back to a house full of people who would didn't care one way or another if he died; people who had allowed him to grow up thinking his name was 'boy' until he had had to go to primary school.

Of course, it hadn't been very much better in the Wizarding world. From the time he had been eleven to the present, he was constantly being hailed as a savior, and then shunned as the up-and-coming Dark Lord in the next breath. Hell, from what information Harry had been able to gather, not even Sirius, his own _godfather_ had wanted him. On the night the Potters had been murdered, Sirius had been at Godric's Hollow to allow Hagrid to use his motorcycle. Harry couldn't help but think that Sirius could have gotten Hagrid to give baby Harry to him if he had really wanted to. Wasn't it Sirius's duty as his godfather to look after him before anyone else? And the summer after fourth year, he hadn't been "allowed" to stay with Sirius at Grimmauld Place; surely Sirius could have fought Dumbledore to get him to come there. It had taken nothing less than an attack by a pair of Dementors to get Harry noticed, and brought into Grimmauld Place.

Harry was jolted out of his depressing thoughts when Draco tenderly placed a hand on his right shoulder. His head jerked up; at the blonde's touch, he realized he had been thinking out loud. Draco's mercurial gaze said everything - he pitied Harry. If there was one thing Harry's pride couldn't stand, it was pity.

"Stop looking at me like that, Malfoy," Harry said. He had meant to growl it out in anger, but it came out dejectedly. "I don't need your pity." Draco gave his shoulder a squeeze before withdrawing his hand.

"Hey, do you... want me to tell you about your life here?" Draco asked quietly. Harry looked up into those grey eyes and realized that he knew close to nothing about his family here, and found himself wanting desperately to hear what Draco could tell him.

"Would you?" Again, Harry's voice betrayed him. He had sounded pathetically plaintive. Draco just smiled warmly, nodding.

"Well, your mum stays at home, mostly. She's your father's agent, and Sirius Black's as well. Your father and godfather - that's Black - are pro Quidditch players. They play for Puddlemere United. Your dad's a chaser, and Black's a beater. They're pretty famous," Draco told him. "You've got another godfather, but I think it's just unofficially - from what my Harry's told me, he sort of 'adopted' another godfather when your family found out your mother couldn't have any more children; he was going to be the Potter's next child's godfather. He writes romance novels." Harry snickered, having an inkling of who his 'adopted godfather' was... and then Draco proved his guess correct, sending him into helpless giggles. "His name's Remus Lupin, but you call him 'Uncle Moony'... never really understood that one," Draco said, muttering the last to himself. "Anyway, I know you've got a Muggle aunt your mum never speaks to, but I think your father's an only child." Draco spread his hands and shrugged. "That's all I know." Harry smiled warmly at him, feeling much better.

"Thank you, Mal - Draco. You're not so bad, for a Slytherin, you know," he teased. Draco grinned at him and mimed a punch at his shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before. Let's get to lunch, Wonder Boy." As Harry walked to lunch with Draco, he felt as if a great weight had been lifted. He had a friend, and things weren't so bad here. Perhaps everything would work out after all...

"Get your head out of the clouds, you Gryffindork!" Draco laughed. Harry smiled peacefully, watching his friend walk beside him with laughter in his grey eyes.


	9. Chapter Nine

A Deviation of Circumstance

by Sparkling Whimsies

Summary- AU: In a reality where Neville Longbottom is the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter is famous. He's the beloved son of Lily Potter and the famous Quidditch chaser James Potter, as well as the godson of both the famous beater Sirius Black and the world-renown novelist Remus Lupin. He's beginning to think he's seriously falling for his boyfriend, the one-and-only Draco Malfoy. After a late-night flight after a fight with Draco, Harry finds himself lost in a place where everyone's convinced his parents and godfather are dead and he's the Boy-Who-Lived. Realizing he's stuck there permanently, Harry searches for something familiar to hold on to... and decides he wants his boyfriend back.

Setting- Sixth Year

Rating - R

A/N: The words in italics at the beginning of the writing indicate which Harry I'm talking about in the passage immediately afterward, not where he is; for example, Alternate Universe Harry means AU Harry in the canon universe. I just thought I'd clarify, just in case it wasn't entirely clear. Enjoy!

Chapter Nine

-

_Alternate Universe Harry:_

Draco's breath came in harsh pants. His head was thrown back, exposing a long column of pale flesh Harry eagerly latched his mouth onto. While his skilled hands worked Draco into a state of feverish abandon, Harry licked and kissed his way up to the blonde's ear.

"Scream for me, lover," Harry whispered tenderly, picking up the pace. The blonde writhed on the white cotton sheets, moaning. Harry's hands gently swept over the places the brunette knew were most sensitive. Draco felt only Harry's touch, losing himself in the sensations and the loss of thought. Manicured fingernails raked down the Gryffindor's back, leaving red welts and making Harry take a hissing breath in through his clenched teeth. Draco moaned, a deep, visceral sound that sent Harry off the edge. Draco followed him, hungrily kissing Harry's swollen lips.

Harry collapsed next to his lover, breathing heavily. Draco rolled to put his back to the other boy. Harry sighed deeply, feeling oddly unsatisfied. He ignored the little part of him that was shaking its head at him in disappointment, gazing at him with eyes that told him he was wrong. Draco moved to pull the sheets up over his naked body, holding onto the corner in front of him in an uncharacteristic display of insecurity.

"Dra- er, Malfoy?" Harry said. The blonde twisted his upper body enough to look Harry in the face. He raised one eyebrow in inquiry. Harry cleared his throat nervously.

"I can't do this anymore." That evil little guilty part of Harry's heart eased, just the tiniest little bit. Draco sat up, confused.

"Potter, you don't just share a wank and then say 'it's over'," he said. "What, you decide you like girls now or something?" Harry sighed gustily and ran a hand through his tussled hair, transferring his gaze from the blonde's face to the ceiling.

"I... Malfoy, I'm not the Potter you know, and I can't do this anymore. It's wrong," Harry said. "I'm in love with someone, or I think I might be... and it's not you."

Resounding silence met his statement. Harry kept his sight fixed on the ceiling, now feeling guilty for a whole new reason.

"Fine," Draco said shortly. He got out of the bed supplied by the Room of Requirement and dressed, yanking on his clothes with short, angry motions. He glared at the supine Gryffindor. "Go back to your _love_, Potter. Just don't expect me to let you use me again. Speak to me again, and I'll hex your fucking head off your shoulders, you bastard."

The blonde whirled around and walked out the door, slamming it behind him.

Harry sighed, hoping this pain would be more bearable than his last.

-

Harry stared vacantly through Professor Binns, words echoing through his head.

"_Don't expect me to let you use me again."_ And wasn't that exactly what he had done? He had used Draco, because he was like the boyfriend he missed so desperately, if only superficially. Despite all of his foolish attempts to make this new world like his own, there was no comparison. Everything was different. He could fool himself no longer.

His Draco was not with him, and not only had he cheated on his (dare he even think it?) love, he had used and hurt another person in his pursuit of self-delusion. Now, this foreign Draco had dared to become involved with him, against all of his Pureblood traditions and teachings. Had anyone found out about his illicit involvement, with the Gryffindor who had caused the downfall of his father's master, no less... the consequences would have been unthinkable. It was a widely accepted fact that Lucius Malfoy was a Dark wizard, and Dark curses were not something to be taken lightly. The person Harry had hurt had braved injury or possibly death for Harry, and how had he repaid the blonde?

'_Oh, I'm _in love_,'_ Harry mocked himself mentally. _'I'm finished with you now, so go away!'_ Hermione, sitting next to him, gave him a look as he let his head drop loudly onto the desktop. _'He's right, I am a bloody bastard. A bastard stuck with no way home. What's left for me here?'_ Harry felt his throat close up as the black tide of despair rose within his chest. He had cheated, he had used someone for his own deluded needs, and he had no idea how to go about fixing any of it.

Harry curled his arms around his head and squeezed his eyes shut. He spent the remainder of the class sinking deeper and deeper into the black pit in his chest.

-

_Canon Harry:_

Harry's brow furrowed. Draco, sitting next to him on the steps in front of Hogwarts' front doors, hummed obliviously. Harry's hand slowly rose up to gently rest in the center of Harry's chest, where tension was starting to build...

Harry's soft cry of pain as he hunched over, hands over his chest, brought Draco to his knees before the Gryffindor.

"Harry, what's wrong?" he asked urgently, eyes anxiously scanning Harry for an injury. Harry cried out again, a soft whimper full of pain. Draco felt the first stirrings of panic. "Harry, what's wrong? Talk to me, baby," the blonde said. Harry's eyes were clenched closed, but tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes. Draco stood, raising his wand and shooting off a shower of red sparks that raced into the castle. He crouched back down, fretfully running his hands over Harry's head and back in a futile attempt to reassure him.

Harry didn't understand what was going on; he could dimly feel Draco moving around and hear him talking, but he couldn't comprehend any of the words. All he knew was the overwhelming despair in his chest, accompanied by a sharp pain. Somehow he knew that something was wrong, something he'd never be able to fix, something that had ruined everything. His world was crumbling around him, leaving him with nothing but himself, and even that was worth less than nothing. Harry felt himself slump over and he faded into the comfort of unconsciousness.

-

_To be continued..._


	10. Chapter Ten

A Deviation of Circumstance

by Sparkling Whimsies

Summary- AU: In a reality where Neville Longbottom is the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter is famous. He's the beloved son of Lily Potter and the famous Quidditch chaser James Potter, as well as the godson of both the famous beater Sirius Black and the world-renown novelist Remus Lupin. He's beginning to think he's seriously falling for his boyfriend, the one-and-only Draco Malfoy. After a late-night flight after a fight with Draco, Harry finds himself lost in a place where everyone's convinced his parents and godfather are dead and he's the Boy-Who-Lived. Realizing he's stuck there permanently, Harry searches for something familiar to hold on to... and decides he wants his boyfriend back.

Setting- Sixth Year

Rating - R

A/N: The words in italics at the beginning of the writing indicate which Harry I'm talking about in the passage immediately afterward, not where he is; for example, Alternate Universe Harry means AU Harry in the canon universe. I just thought I'd clarify, just in case it wasn't entirely clear. Enjoy!

Chapter Ten

-

_Canon Harry:_

All he knew was grey fog. He swayed on unsteady legs, staring perplexedly into the twilight surrounding him. He turned in a slow circle, finding naught but the same dull landscape in every direction. When he had turned a full circle, he found himself staring into the face of someone who looked exactly like him. With a startled cry, Harry stumbled backward. His hands groped for his wand in his pockets. He felt his fingers curl around the reassuringly familiar wood and pointed his wand straight at his double. The other just stared at him dully, completely apathetic.

"Who the hell are you?" Harry snarled. The other boy didn't answer, but stood there with that disturbingly listless look. "Where am I?"

The answer he got didn't come from a source he was expecting.

"YOU ARE HERE, BETWEEN," a voice boomed, at once inside his head and all around him. Both boys clapped hands to their ears in pain at the reverberating words they felt in their very bones. "YOU ARE TWO OF ONE. RECONCILE YOUR ALTERATIONS AND PREPARE FOR YOUR HOMECOMING."

Harry groaned and levered himself up off the ground where he had fallen. He pocketed his wand to see... himself shakily stand a few feet away. Harry watched warily as the figure regained its balance and raised its head to lock gazes with him. In that look, Harry knew, in a flash of blazing insight, that this was the version of himself that he had replaced. He dropped his guard and gave the other boy a respectful nod. He received a nod of his own, and stepped forward.

"We're supposed to 'reconcile our alterations', right? We're going home, and so we're to tell each other what we've changed," Harry said, feeling remarkably calm. "I didn't do much. I tried to act as normal as possible, but Neville noticed something was up and you've got a bit of a reputation for being more snappish than usual." The other Harry just stared at him impassively. It was unnerving to see his own face so devoid of anything but a detached sort of sorrow.

"I fucked it up for you," the other said, his voice rough with the emotions not on his face. "I started something with Draco and fucked it up. You've got more friends now, in other houses, but Draco still hates me... you, now, I guess," he said. A lone tear made a glistening wet track down his face. "Good luck."

The world exploded in a flash of light, and Between was no more.

-

_Alternate Universe Harry:_

Harry's eyes fluttered open to reveal a blurry world comprised of colors and vague shapes. Long fingers reached for glasses on the bedside table, stopping abruptly as the rush of memory inundated his drowsy mind. One choked off sob made its way into the air of the Hospital Wing.

Harry rolled over, burying his face in his pillow as harsh, silent sobs wracked his body. He was home, he could feel it. It was like a welcome he could feel in his soul. Home... home meant he didn't have to act. It meant he could see his family, his friends... Draco...

Draco had just been his boyfriend, before. He had just been a boy he had liked well enough to talk to, at least, and handsome enough. He just was. But once he'd gotten taken away by the lightning, everything had changed for him. He'd found out that he missed Draco like he missed nothing else. He missed the little smiles, the little comments and observations about anything or everything that were just so incredibly _Draco_. He missed the furtive caresses, and the not-so-furtive ones, and the holding hands and the snogging and just _everything_ because they came from Draco. He had realized, once he couldn't have him anymore, just how much he needed the blonde Slytherin. How much he loved him.

Other things he had learned about himself were less beneficial. He had learned how well he could lie to his best friends. How well he could use people, manipulate them for himself. How callously he could discard someone. How hurtful he was capable of being. All he could see were the other Draco's jerky, stilted movements as he left that evening from the Room of Requirement. All he could see was the stiff, angry line of his retreating back, the tears welling up in that one silver eye that had stolen one last look before removing itself from Harry's life forever.

All he could see was the weakness he had caused such a strong person, and he hated himself for it.

And just as he grabbed his glasses and settled them on his nose to the sound of approaching footsteps, an achingly familiar face walked through the curtains around his bed. And Harry hated himself for the joy that lit up that face.

"Harry..." Draco breathed, reaching out to embrace the Gryffindor. Harry pulled back. Draco froze, and in that second Harry made a decision. Fueled by overwhelming guilt and self-loathing, Harry grabbed the glass on the bedside table, smashed it on the metal frame of the bed, and plunged a long, glittering piece of glass into his left wrist. One savage yank that took the rest of Harry's strength ripped open his forearm.

Draco looked on in utter horror.

Blood gushed from the long slash, staining the white sheets with a spreading crimson stain. Harry laid back gently into the pillows and closed his eyes.

"Madame POMFREY!" the blonde screamed.

Harry's world faded to black, and he knew no more.

-

_A/N: Sorry about that excerpt; for plot reasons, it had to be moved to the next chapter. I hope you like this chapter. I don't plan on killing the other Harry, if it's any consolation._


	11. Chapter Eleven

A Deviation of Circumstance

by Sparkling Whimsies

Summary- AU: In a reality where Neville Longbottom is the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter is famous. He's the beloved son of Lily Potter and the famous Quidditch chaser James Potter, as well as the godson of both the famous beater Sirius Black and the world-renown novelist Remus Lupin. He's beginning to think he's seriously falling for his boyfriend, the one-and-only Draco Malfoy. After a late-night flight after a fight with Draco, Harry finds himself lost in a place where everyone's convinced his parents and godfather are dead and he's the Boy-Who-Lived. Realizing he's stuck there permanently, Harry searches for something familiar to hold on to... and decides he wants his boyfriend back.

Setting- Sixth Year

Rating - R

Chapter Eleven

-

_Alternate Universe Harry:_

Harry smiled warmly at Draco. He turned his face up into the sunlight and flopped back into the thick grass at the lakeside.

It had taken two months and all the support Draco could give, but Harry was finally feeling human again. After his desperate act in the Hospital Wing, Madame Pomfrey had patched Harry up again and placed him under twenty-four hour guard. His parents, his godfathers, Draco, Ron, and Hermione had all taken turns on watch, along with various teachers. He had told Draco all of his indiscretions, waiting for the blonde to condemn him for his infidelity and betrayal, guilt weighing heavy on him. He had been completely thunderstruck when the Slytherin had quietly told him he forgave him. Through the course of many long, often painful conversations with his friends and family, he had realized that he didn't care for the person he had been before his experience: an arrogant, reckless, self-righteous person. If he was charismatic, that only made it all the worse when he used that charisma to manipulate the people around him.

He had decided that wasn't the person he wanted to be, and had strived for change, with the support and encouragement of his friends and family. His mother couldn't have been prouder... and Draco wasn't complaining either.

It was one of those days when the sun's still shining when you close your eyes; Harry lay spread-eagle in the grass before a copse of trees by the lake with Draco, Ron, and Hermione, soaking in the sun and reveling in the company of his closest friends. A deep breath brought the scent of clean air and freshly-cut grass, and the sky was a clear cerulean blue. The world was perfect, and Harry felt great.

-

_Canon Harry:_

Big wet drops of rain splashed onto Harry's face, rousing him from unconsciousness. He found himself sprawled in the grass in front of Hogwarts, his Firebolt inches from the fingers of his outstretched right hand. He had a massive headache pounding in his temples as he levered himself up off of the wet grass. A bleary glance at his watch told him that it was just past noon. Harry shook his head to clear it, wincing as his head complained at the movement. He retrieved his broom from the ground and plodded across the grounds and up the steps he had been sitting with Draco on just an hour ago.

In the Entrance Hall, Harry met Hermione and Ron on their way to lunch and immediately knew he was home.

"Ron? Hermione?" he said. Something in his voice must have alerted them that something was different; they immediately made their way towards him, concerned looks on their faces. Harry dropped his broom and pulled the both of them into a hug.

"Harry, what on earth is the matter?" Hermione asked, patting him on the back awkwardly. "Why are you all wet?" Her voice took on a warning note. "You weren't flying in this storm, were you?" Harry released them and stepped back laughing.

"No, Hermione, I wasn't flying," he reassured her. "I think I need to speak to Dumbledore." He beamed at them and picked up his Firebolt. He missed the surprised looks on the others' faces as he headed off for the Headmaster's office.

-

"It's good to have you back, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said. His blue eyes twinkled madly at Harry over his half-moon glasses. The pair were seated comfortably in Dumbledore's office. The headmaster had applied a quick drying charm to Harry's robes, and Harry was feeling rather cheerful, all things considered. He was home, and things didn't seem as dire as they had before. The warning about Draco that the other Harry had given him lurked in the back of his mind, but Harry resolutely ignored it. He was _home_.

"It's good to be back, Professor," Harry replied whole-heartedly. Dumbledore smiled at him happily.

"I would assume that you've talked to my... ah, counterpart, shall I say, in wherever it is you went? You seem to have survived the experience," Dumbledore said.

"Yes, sir. I got to meet my parents." Harry smiled at the thought. "Did I miss anything important?" Harry's smile faded as Dumbledore's face became serious.

"I'm afraid nothing's changed as far as the situation concerning Voldemort, but there have been some rather radical social changes your counterpart has affected," Dumbledore said. "On the one hand, 'you' have made a great many more friends, and come 'out of the closet', as they say, in a rather spectacular manner. On the other, 'you' initiated a romantic entanglement with one of your peers that did not end well."

"Draco," Harry said. Dumbledore nodded. _'I started something with Draco and fucked it up,'_ the other Harry had said. Well, if Draco Malfoy would start something, Harry was sure as hell not going to let it go. Sensing the air of determination surrounding the teen, Dumbledore stood.

"Well, I'm sure you've got lots of catching up to do with Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger. I'll see you at dinner, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded to the elderly wizard and left the office, a resolved look on his face.

Much searching and countless stairs later, Harry found his quarry, amongst the crowd of students leaving the Great Hall after lunch. The blonde's face darkened angrily at the sight of him.

"Draco, can we talk?" Harry asked, stepping directly into his path. Draco glared angrily.

"No, Potter, we bloody well cannot. Sod off," he growled. He pushed past Harry roughly.

"Well, then we'll talk here. I may be crazy, but I think I love you."

Draco froze in his tracks, as did much of the crowd surrounding them. He slowly pivoted to stare at the Gryffindor in wide-eyed confusion.

"I think," Harry said slowly, "that I would really like it if you would be my boyfriend. Do you accept?"

A hush fell over the crowd as everyone waited for Draco's answer.

"Are you _asking me out_, you great ponce? Have you lost your bloody MIND?" the Slytherin asked incredulously. "I hate you," he said flatly. "You're mad."

Harry, to the astonishment of the crowd, smiled. He moved closer, placing a gentle hand under Draco's chin and looking him straight in the eye. "Maybe I am, but you're the best thing that's happened to me in a long time." Harry slowly drew closer to Draco and gently kissed him on the mouth. Draco's eyes fluttered closed.

It was a kiss like neither of them had ever experienced before. In that kiss, each of them knew that the other was different from the person he had been with before. And with every fiber of their beings, they knew they could be great together. As they slowly pulled apart, the crowd completely nonexistent to them, they locked gazes and something changed.

"My father will kill me," Draco said softly.

"Let him try," Harry replied. "I'll be ready." Their lips drew together once again, thus beginning the rest of their lives. Together.

Together at long last.

-

_**The End**_


End file.
